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baith befoir Born cauſe Courage Danger dead death doun dyed Experience face fair fall fame faſt fate fell firſt frae furth grene gude haif hand hard heart heid heir Hope hour king kirk land laſt late live Lord lyke maid mair micht mony morn moſt muſt nane Nature never night nocht o'er once owre pain Peblis plain play Quha quhair Quhat Quhen Quhilk Quhyle quod Quoth Reaſon richt round ſae ſaid ſaw ſay ſcho ſee ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome ſtill ſum tell thair thame Thay thee theſe thing thocht thoſe thou thow throw till trow tyme wald whoſe wind zour
Seite 144 - Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals, Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones? The very turf on which we tread once liv'd ; And we that live must lend our carcasses To cover our own offspring : in their turns They too must cover theirs.
Seite 146 - Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant ; that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.
Seite 104 - But, Sacred Saviour, with thy words I woo Thee to forgive, and not be bitter to Such as thou know'st do not know what they do.
Seite 157 - Now, Spring returns ; but not to me returns The vernal joy my better years have known ; Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, And all the joys of life with health are flown.
Seite 158 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
Seite 155 - Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs : Dead men have come again, and walk'd about ; And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. (Such tales their cheer at wake or gossiping, When it draws near to witching time of night...
Seite 152 - Sure the last end Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit ! Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
Seite 146 - midst the wreck of things which were; There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is up: hark ! how it howls ! Methinks Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary...
Seite 158 - I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, Which mortals visit, and return no more. Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains!